The Return Of The Fallen Soldier
by wynnie the pooh
Summary: After the season five finale, Booth gets shot in Afghanistan. What will happen when he returns?


_Disclaimer: I do not own Bones._

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The Return Of The Fallen Soldier**

_The pain ripped through me, splitting my skin, my muscles, grazing my bones. I had been shot before, and that was how I knew this was the same. That was also how I knew this was different. This was different because not only was my leg on fire, burning, but my heart was also pulling apart at its core. Because I knew who had shot me, and why, and the reason was nowhere near good enough.

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_

I'd been in the army a long time ago. I'd been a Master Sergeant in the Army Rangers, and I'd served in the Gulf, Somalia and Kosovo. Back then, the army was about fulfilling my duty, and being the man my country wanted me to be. Somewhere in me, I knew I'd also gone because I needed to get away from my wrecked family. But war, despite the reasons I went, were not exactly what I wanted it to be.

I was a sniper, and my job, to put it simply, was to aim and shoot. During training, I enjoyed it, the precision as you lined up the shot, and the rebound of the gun in your arms as the bullet fired.

But once I was out there, cloth dummies replaced with living, breathing, human flesh, the darkness and evil of it all came pressing down on me. I didn't want to be there, but there was no way out. I just had to survive, and survive I did. I held my own when I was captured, and I refused to cry when anyone could see me.

And then, when I got out, I knew I had to make up for it somehow. And I did, working for the FBI. And I thought all would be good with the world, and I would never have to go back and see the things I had seen again.

But the letter came, and I found myself in Afghanistan, training men to do what I had done with the FBI, hunt down the enemy. And I knew I was killing more people, even though it wasn't my hand, but I could do nothing about it. I was stuck. I wanted out.

The day was hot, endlessly hot, when the man approached me. I'd seen him a few times around the base, but I didn't know his name or his rank.

'Booth?' he asked me. 'You're Booth, right? Seeley Booth?'

I nodded, and he passed me a letter, very much like the one I had received ten months before hand, bringing me here. 'Read this, right away,' he said, and walked away.

I ran my finger across the seal and pulled out the slip of paper. On it was written two words:

_brain surgery_

It was then that the shot pealed out, the sound of piston hitting bullet reaching my ears before the impact. My only thought as the bullet passed through my thigh, was that I was lucky it wasn't through my head.

* * *

I remembered the pain. I remembered the truth of why I had been shot, the letter that had spelled out my sentence. But when I woke up on a medical gurney, on a plane back to the states, I couldn't understand why those two words meant so much to the army. Why did brain surgery mean I should be shot? It was only brain surgery.

And then it hit me. It was so obvious, and I didn't understand why I hadn't seen it before. I had undergone brain surgery a year before leaving for Afghanistan, to remove a couple of benign tumors that had made themselves at home in within my skull. And there was a fact, a quite well known fact, that if you have undergone major surgery, you cannot serve in the armed forces overseas.

They had made the mistake of asking me back without doing their research. They couldn't declare me a dishonorable discharge, because it was their mistake. So instead, like cowards, they shot me, and sent me home as an injured soldier.

Somewhere in me, I felt ashamed. I had stood up for them, when Bones had argued, again and again, that the armed forces were corrupted, and one day they would screw me over like they screwed over so many others. And this was my turn. My number had been drawn.

And the army had staged a cover-up to hide their relative minor mistake.

I found, as we flew over the atlantic ocean, that I was incredibly pissed.

* * *

Slowly, I recovered, but I knew I would never go back. They wouldn't ask me, and I wouldn't offer. I didn't trust them any more, and I didn't want this pain to return.

When my leg had regained some movement, I went home. My first night in my own bed was warm and soft, and I managed to down enough pain relievers to sleep soundly. I didn't dream. I was kind of glad for that, actually, because I knew the dreams would be painful. Dreams of war were always painful.

I woke up to the sound of my tap dripping, even though I couldn't remember turning it on. I slid out of bed, wincing as the muscles in my leg protested, but I struggled forward into the kitchen and spun the tap to stop the dripping.

I was home, with the leaky tap, and the temperamental stove top. I was in the apartment I had lived in for so long, but somehow, it still didn't quite feel right. Something was missing. And though it had been gone for ten months, I had a good idea I knew what it was.

* * *

I was glad it was my left leg that had been shot as I pulled out onto the highway. I knew where I was going: to the FBI building. I needed my job back, needed security that there was something I could do with my life, somewhere where I could make a difference. Thinking about it, war seemed to have a habit of tearing my world apart, and the FBI always managed to build it back up, slowly but surely.

I was heading to the FBI, but I needed to make a stop first. I knew getting my job back was important, but I wasn't sure if it was what I needed. Was it what would make me feel at home?

And that was why I stopped in the visitors parking lot of the Jeffersonian museum's Medico-Legal Lab.

Truth be told, the decision to go there was more automatic than planned. I had let my gut guide me, like I had urged Bones to do so many times, and this was where my gut had wanted to go.

I climbed out of my car and up the steps to the lab. My feet led me to her office, steps I had walked so many times. I didn't expect her to be here. She was doing her own thing, on a dig in some Pooey islands somewhere, and she wasn't supposed to be back for another month and a half.

I waved at Angela who was sitting at her desk, a baby carrier at her side. Baby carrier? I was surprised to find that it didn't surprise me.

'Booth!' she called out, and I paused, backtracking and slipping into her office.

'Hey, Angela.'

'You're not supposed to be back yet!' she said.

'I know.'

'Why are you back?'

'I got shot.'

She stood up quickly, laying her hands on my shoulders and looking me up and down. 'Where? Did it hurt? I told Jack that you'd get hurt. He didn't believe me. He said you were too tough.'

I laughed at her rushed voice and pointed towards my thigh. She raised her eyebrows. 'Really?'

'What are you thinking? My thigh, Angela. _Thigh.' _

'Yeah, that wasn't what I was thinking,' she laughed before sitting back in her chair. I motioned to the baby carrier, which when I looked closer, was actually empty.

'What's with this?' I asked.

'Oh!' she exclaimed, jumping back out of her seat. 'You don't know, do you?'

'Know what?'

'About Chase! Come meet him. He's with his dad at the moment, looking at some colorful slime. I swear its just the colors he's interested in.'

I was a little confused, but I let Angela lead me out of the room and pull me towards Hodgins' desk. 'Jack! Look! It's Booth!'

Hodgins stood up, a baby in his arms. He held out a hand for me to shake and I took it. 'Hey, man. Didn't expect to see you for a while.'

'I didn't expect to be back for a while.'

He gave me a half-grin, but I could tell that he was apprehensive. _I _would have been apprehensive.

Angela took the baby out of Hodgins' grasp and passed it to me. 'This is Chase. Tell us, does he look more like me or Jack? We can't decide, and Bren only says that crap about a baby having his father's features until he's however many years old. But seriously. Which one?'

I looked down at the baby in my arms, who was smiling and waving its hands at me. I can remember when Parker was this age, with all the poop and vomit and crying and not sleeping. I didn't envy the two of them one bit.

'Um...' I said. 'He has your skin tone, Angela. But I think Bones is right. He has Hodgins' nose and eyes.'

'I told you!' Hodgins declared, and I took the opportunity to place the baby back in his arms and escape.

I headed down towards Bones' office, passing people I didn't recognize on the way. I used to be able to recognize everyone here. I knew people's names, even the people from other departments that I saw once in a blue moon. Now, the people I passed were strangers; I didn't know them and they didn't know me.

I walked into her office, searching me pockets for a pen. I was planning on writing a note, probably on a sticky-pad. I wasn't sure what I was going to say, or how I was going to say it, but I needed to tell her, somehow, that I missed her, and I hadn't changed my mind.

About a year ago, I had declared I had loved her. I had thought it was kind of obvious, but apparently, she didn't get it. She couldn't understand that I needed her, and I needed to be with her.

But she went to Makapoopoo and so I went to Afghanistan, and suddenly we were separated. Bones and I hadn't been separated for five years.

'Booth?'

I looked up, pen in hand. She was sitting at her desk, hair pulled back, typing something onto her computer. 'Bones?'

'Who would you expect? This _is _my office.'

'I know-' I stammered. 'I mean, I just didn't expect to see you.'

'None of us expected you, either.' Her voice was slightly cold, and I had the funny feeling that she was angry with me.

'What's wrong, Bones?'

'Nothing.'

I took a step closer to her desk. 'Something's wrong.'

'It's nothing, Booth.'

'It's definitely not nothing. Talk to me, Bones. I'm the talky guy.'

'Well, you weren't this time, were you?'

I took another step closer and laid my hands on the edge of her desk. I leant over to be at level with her. 'What are you talking about?'

'You didn't bother to let anyone know, did you?'

'About what?'

She paused, sighed, and looked back up at me. 'That you got shot.'

I went to say something, but stopped, cocking my head to the side questioningly. 'What do you mean?'

She sighed again and stood up, walking around from the desk and pushing past me towards the door. 'I told them you wouldn't understand.'

'Bones!' She tried to walk out the door but I grabbed her arm, spinning her around to face me. 'What the hell are you on about? Are you mad that I didn't tell you I got shot? Coz, for your information, I thought you were on an important dig in makapoopoo and didn't want to talk to me because you needed time to know what you wanted. Isn't that what you said?'

I was getting a little testy, and I knew it, but I couldn't understand why she was angry at me. Me, of all people!

'Yes, that's exactly what I said. But apparently, when I get an email from the army saying that my partner has been shot and is heading home and will probably want help rehabilitating, I get worried!'

She pulled her arm out of my grasp and tried again to reach the door. I stepped quickly around her and blocked her way.

'What?'

'You heard me.'

'Sure, but I didn't really get it. You were worried? About me?'

She gave me what could only be considered an evil eye and folded her arms across her chest. 'Of course I was worried about you, Booth,' she said finally. 'Why else would I leave a very important, and very scientifically interesting dig in Malulu?'

I grinned. 'You missed me!' I sung. 'You worried about me! You wanted to be here! You wanted to see me! You _love _me!'

I hadn't meant to say it. Trust me, if I could take back every word of that impromptu song I really, really would have. As it was, I fell silent immediately. I took a step away from her, giving her space to leave if she wanted to. And I was really scared she wanted to. I didn't want her to.

But she didn't say anything, or do anything. She just stood there.

'Bones,' I said. 'Say something.'

'What am I supposed to say, Booth?'

'I don't know! Anything? Don't just stand there making me feel awkward. Say no, and leave, and I won't give a damn.'

She sighed, stepping backwards into her office again and collapsing against the couch. 'But you will.'

'Will, what?'

'Give a damn.'

I looked across to her. Part of her bun had fallen out and was framing her face. She let out a puff of breath and the lock of hair flew up and then back down. I loved the small quirks she had, like blowing her hair out of her face. I loved everything about her.

'Of course I will, Bones. But I'll grow a pair and somehow get over it.'

She sighed again, and patted the seat beside her. 'Sit down, Booth. You have a shot leg.'

I sat down, but not because of my leg. The couch was small and we were squished together, knees touching.

'Booth,' she whispered, and I turned my head to face her. 'What am I supposed to do?'

'What are you supposed to do about what, Bones?'

She shook her head at me, a smiling playing at the corners of her mouth. 'All of this. All of you.'

Despite the fact that we hadn't seen each other in ten months, I had thought about our return often. I wanted to imagine what it would be like, what she would say, and what I would say in return. But I had never imagined it would go like this. I would never imagine to be here early, and she had come home early to be here for me. And I made the major mistake of mentioning something that had become unspeakable between us.

I turned towards the woman I was certain I loved. We hadn't been this close since I told her I loved her. I enjoyed being this close. It felt right. I felt like I was at home.

'I have no clue, but I sure hope it involves kissing me sometime in the near future.'

She laughed, but barely had time to roll her eyes and slap me playfully on the arm when I did it. Because, come on. I'm the guy. It's what we do.

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Another little one-shot, based on the finale of Season 5. Hope you enjoyed!


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